Pezberry Head canons
by Jinxgirl
Summary: Exactly as the title says. Based off the basis of if Pezberry had been together in high school circa season 2.
1. Chapter 1

As soon as Santana realized the extent to which Rachel is uncomfortable about her nose, she began to incorporate into their affection attention directed towards it; kissing its tip while they lie cuddling in bed, giving her Eskimo kisses after a normal kiss when she greets her hello, and sometimes, gently tracing her finger over its bridge while looking into her eyes, all without saying a word about it or calling attention to what she is doing, but nevertheless showing her that for her, Rachel's nose is nothing to be ashamed of or self-conscious of. 


	2. Chapter 2

With her former relationships with men, Santana had always felt slightly uncomfortable being so much smaller. When their arms were around her, it almost felt like a weight holding her down, and when they were on top of her, she sometimes had to hold her breath, because for a moment or two she would almost be certain that they would crush her, if she didn't hold them back. She didn't want them to pick her up or give her anything less than complete control, and the difference in strengths often meant that unless she asserted herself immediately, catching them off guard with her blatantly sexual behavior and her aggression, then they could too easily take over and press her harder than she was willing to go. For Santana to participate, she first had to establish that it was she, not the guy, who was fully in control.

With Brittany it was different; for the first time her smallness felt like an asset rather than a challenge to overcome. With Brittany it was okay to be smaller, to be touched softly and cradled rather than groped, to be held as though she were beautiful and delicate, to be the one on bottom rather than scrabbling her way to the top. With Brittany Santana could let herself be lead, eventually, could let herself be stroked and kissed and explored as though she were a working wonder rather than a job to be finished fast. With Brittany she could give up the control she had always fought for, and let herself be cared for, let herself be the vulnerable smaller spoon, and really feel like that was not only okay, but preferable.

And she enjoyed it. So much so that when it came to Rachel, the first person to make Santana the larger one in their interactions, Santana was initially thrown, even resentful, to give up what had become her accustomed place. She could no longer be the one who was held, and so, knowing only one other role, she had initially tried to be the aggressor, as she had been with the men, attempting to straddle atop Rachel and hold her down, "dominate" her and exert her control over her and any sexual or romantic situation she got into. And for a while it had seemed to work out okay; certainly Rachel seemed to enjoy it. But the day had come that Rachel had reached out to take hold of Santana's roaming hands, to meet her gaze with hers, and had gently but firmly requested that Santana stop and slow, that instead, she simply lie behind her in bed, her arms around her, and hold her, fitting her body into Rachel's from behind.

And so she had. And she had discovered that as strange as it felt, to be the larger one, to be the one protecting rather than being protected, being gentle rather than being controlling, it somehow also felt incredibly right.


	3. Chapter 3

If anyone ever asked her, the stuffed white cat sitting on Santana's bed was just some lame sappy gift from Rachel, the girl who still had all her childhood beanie babies and who obviously seemed to think that seventeen year olds still played with toys and actually wanted something so lame. She had a ready eye roll and flippant comment about Rachel's refusal to let go of childhood and her assumption that Santana couldn't do the same. Of course, she didn't really like the silly thing, but she had to keep it out where people could see it, or else Rachel would pout or sulk or get hurt, and then there would be long passionate talks and likely, denial of sexual activity for some time. It was all just easier to simply leave it out and avoid all that. But what she wouldn't tell those people, should they happen to glimpse it, let alone ask, was that Santana had named the cat Berry-Beauty and often held it on her lap, stroking its fur when she was stressed. What she wouldn't mention was that any night that Rachel didn't stay over, she would curl herself around it beneath her blankets and not release it until morning, where it would again suddenly become "that lame cat Rachel gave me for some reason." 


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes Santana watches her abuela, on the rare occasions that her family takes her to church, and she will study her, really study her face where Alma cannot see, trying to find in her expression just what has changed so much to the woman that she could choose to hold her with such disdain, with hatred, even with fear. She watches her abuela and silently hopes that somehow she will feel her, if not see her, that she will look up and see in her what she had seen before she came out to her, that she would realize all at once that Santana was unchanged how it really mattered, that she would suddenly realize all over again what she had once loved. And when this did not happen, when her abuela neither turned her head nor changed her mind, she would retreat to the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror, staring back at her own reflection and wondering what her abuela saw that Santana could not. 


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes Santana worries that Rachel won't accept her like Brittany does. That Rachel will always be slightly unsatisfied, or have a problem with a habit, belief, or action that Santana has grown comfortable with, no matter how offensive or wrong or cruel or unhealthy it might be. That Rachel will constantly be looking at her with disappointed or critical eyes, reaching out to "fix" her or prodding Santana to want to fix herself and to keep reaching to be better and better. Sometimes, secretly, she compares Rachel to Brittany in this way, and it seems to her that Brittany's stance is preferable. Brittany nearly always accepted Santana exactly as she was, flaws, insecurities, cruelties, and all, and although she never seemed to mind reassuring Santana and occasionally would mildly reprove her, she never pushed too hard for her to change. It seemed to Santana that Brittany was entirely okay with who she was, even if Santana was miserable behind it all, and it was easier to be with someone who would not make things hard. But in the end, it truly was harder to be so miserable than it was to make the steps towards change, and no matter how much she sometimes resented Rachel's pushing her along the way to improve, it was always eventually preferable to staying the same. 


	6. Chapter 6

Santana used to worry, when she first joined Cheerios, that she would be at the bottom of the totem pole, literally, due not to her age or her freshman status, or even her lack of experience, and certainly not because of her talents or abilities, but rather because of her genetics. She was the only girl of Hispanic descent on the squad, possibly the only Hispanic in all the history of Cheerios to even try out. She knew that other Hispanic girls from her neighborhood watched her with something between resentment and envy, thinking that she was stepping outside their boundaries, drawing attention to herself in a way that they may want for themselves but would never ask for in the way that Santana did. Already she did not quite fit in with the girls in WMHS of her own heritage; they had always thought her too "stuck on herself" because she actually did well in school and went to class, even though she attempted to conceal her actual desire to succeed academically and downplay her scores and the fact that she occasionally actually studied. They didn't like the way she dressed or how she talked, the fact that she only spoke in Spanish when with her abuela or when very angry, and they didn't like that she, as the daughter of a fairly well off doctor, was an only child with a room all to herself, in expensive name brand clothing, rather than one of five or six siblings in a small rented home. More times than Santana could count she had been accused of being a puta, a sellout, of "trying to be white" or "forgetting where she came from," even though she and most of the other Hispanic-American girls had been born right there in Lima and never set foot on Mexican soil. For Santana to join Cheerios, and then Glee Club, was an unforgivable breach of what was considered acceptable among them, and she could almost feel their unspoken curses aimed her way when she was accepted on- along with their silent hopes that she would fulfill society's expectations for her and get pregnant at fifteen. Lucky for her, it was Quinn who took over that role, and Santana took up the responsibility of barking like the Taco Bell dog every time she passed their table in the lunch room instead- though god forbid anyone else even think of making such a gesture who didn't have (My parents or grandparents were) Made in Mexico stamped somewhere within their genetic code. 


	7. Chapter 7

For years, Santana told herself that the reason she would catch herself looking in the locker room was purely for fodder with which to blackmail, criticize, and make them ashamed. Sneaking glances at girls undressing meant that she might catch glimpses of ugly moles or too many freckles, cellulite or weird birthmarks, granny panties or stuffed bras, weird scars or hastily concealed hickeys. If she looked at them in their most unclad states, she would notice problem areas like thunder thighs or slightly rounded stomachs, uneven sized breasts or sagging asses, much more obviously than she could when they were covered by clothing. She told herself that she was not looking out of interest, but out of research, and that if she enjoyed herself, it was due to a malevolent anticipation at future acts of vindictiveness. She told herself that if her glances happened to linger even over the girls who had no such flaws to report, girls like Brittany Pierce or Quinn Fabray, who seemed to be made in a state of pure teenage perfection physically, then she was simply checking to make sure that no such flaw had suddenly presented itself to her for the taking. And if there was no flaw, well, then, she would have to look for herself, to compare her own body. If Brittany had long, muscled legs and high breasts, then Santana was looking not out of admiration, but because she had to find a way to make her own shorter legs and smaller breasts look every bit as good to be competitive, or even acceptable. If Quinn had a perfectly firm, rounded ass, then Santana had to make sure hers was too, or even better. And, okay, if there happened to be some admiration in the looks too, well that was because Santana knew more than any perverted dick of a guy could how hard the girls had to work to get such amazing bodies, and she was simply appreciating the end results of extreme daily effort to maintain. That was all. Or so this is what she told herself on a daily basis for over two years, even as the glimpses became longer looks and her hand sometimes itched with her desire to reach out and touch some of that flawless, maddeningly available expanses of skin. 


	8. Chapter 8

Santana didn't want Rachel to know it, but she absolutely loved when Rachel forced her to sing songs off of musicals with her. Whether it was a duet for Glee clubs, a musical movie marathon complete with hairbrush microphones in Rachel's bedroom, or god forbid, a typical Friday night sing-along by the piano with her fathers, Santana would always snark and complain and drag her feet about it, but ultimately, she would, seemingly with the greatest reluctance, participate. What she didn't tell Rachel was that she loved the way Rachel's eyes would shine with such unabashed pleasure, how her entire face seemed to glow with happiness; she didn't tell her that when she sang the roles that Rachel had chosen for her, she could really feel through the music and find in her own voice all the emotions of the part she had been given, and release out some of her own tightly guarded feelings along with it. She didn't tell her that sometimes she had to try to keep her guard up from bursting into joyful laughter or from crying genuine tears, that when she danced it was never planned, but rather spontaneous response to the music they were making. And she never could stop herself, no matter how hard she tried, from breaking out into a huge, unguarded grin by the end of every even slightly upbeat song, knowing full well that no matter what she didn't say, Rachel could undoubtedly read it all very plainly in the wake of her smiles. 


End file.
